


happiness is a warm gun

by AMiserableLove



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 20:10:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14456820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMiserableLove/pseuds/AMiserableLove
Summary: She could see the fire flashing in his unwavering stare, unchecked and violent. The slide of his mouth as it lifted into a cruel and humorless smirk.(Ignored the way it sparked something inside of her; flames pooling low in her belly, threatening to billow out, roaring into an unforgiving and raging inferno.)





	happiness is a warm gun

**Author's Note:**

> A few days ago an amazing fandom author thingcalledlove wrote a fic with a very similar scenario going on. Initially my reaction was "son of a bitch!" because as you'll see I wrote something that closely matches hers. But as I told her, my frustration quickly melted away because her fic was fantastic, and how can someone truly be frustrated with a fantastic fic?!?! I gave her the heads up that I'd still like to post mine even though it was quite similar and thankfully she was very enthusiastic about it. After all this fandom is tiny and needs more fics right?! I wanted to wait a few days so they weren't posted too closely together and just wanted to give her a shout out because she was very gracious about the whole thing.

"Breathe. Just. Breathe."

Closing her eyes for a moment, a mere millisecond really, she whispered the words softly to herself, a broken and mumbled mantra. Choked off and near desperate, the words seemingly echoed off the empty warehouse walls, hanging in the air and mocking her in weak and taunting tones. Clutching the gun she held in her hand, feeling the weight of the cool metal...

_—how can something so cold, so small, burn and bite into her skin—_

...she wrapped her fingers a little tighter around it and blew out a shaky and stinted breath, her chest heaving and lips quivering with the action.

"Breathe."

Taking another step towards the lone figure that stood seemingly defenseless a few handful of feet away, she slowly raised her arm, ignoring the weight of the weapon in hand; the way her entire body tensed, screaming for her to reconsider, to plead and bargain...

To beg for his mercy.

"So this is how it's gonna be Red?'

She took another step forward, the shuffle of her heeled boots echoing like cannon fire in her ears, her eyes following the line of his shoulders as he stiffened; spine snapping straighter, dark eyes narrowed in focus.

"This is how it _has_ to be."

She wouldn't go down without a fight. Wouldn't sit around and wait for him to come after her—her friends, her kids. Everything she worked so hard for. To provide for. To protect.

She would do whatever it takes.

(And she pushed away the voices in her head that whispered of _murder,_ choosing instead to focus on the man in front of her.)

"So you really think you're some big boss bitch now?"

She could tell he was angry.

Livid.

_Furious._

She could see the fire flashing in his unwavering stare, unchecked and violent. The slide of his mouth as it lifted into a cruel and humorless smirk.

(Ignored the way it sparked something inside of her; flames pooling low in her belly, threatening to billow out, roaring into an unforgiving and raging inferno.)

_Stop._

She wasn't that person anymore.

She didn't thrive off the thrill of crime. The dark heat in his eyes when he approved of something she did. The way her body tingled in anticipation when he touched her. Seemingly fleeting but anything but innocent.

She. Wasn't. That. Person. Anymore.

Not after tonight.

She'd go back to carpooling and bake sales.

Dinner parties and soccer practices.

A good and respectable housewife

A completely ordinary life.

She just needed to do _this_ first.

"You think you've got what it takes?"

He was advancing on her now. Slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. As if she didn't have a very real, very loaded weapon pointed directly at his chest. And she could feel the pounding of her heart as she watched him in a slight daze, a terrible and condemning thrum. Couldn't help but shiver at the way her blood suddenly ran cold before rushing hot and fast in her veins.

She knew she should be scared.

She had every right to be absolutely terrified.

After all he was dangerous.

_Lethal._

The rush of excitement and pull of arousal that had so easily lured her in, tempted and teased her with its promise of quick money and the heady rush for the potential of something else—a smug smile, a softly spoken approval, a sharp and lingering stare—a thing of the past.

Gathering what little was left of her resolve and straightening her spine, she aimed the gun in front of her—grip a fraction steadier—trying to wave him off, silently begging for him to stop. Her concentration faltering and her mouth dipping down into a deep frown as he paid her no mind, continuing his slow and practiced movements as he leisurely closed the space between them.

"You've left me with no choice Rio."

He smirked again at that, this time less cruel and sharp but still with a hint of a taunt; as if he knew something—a secret she was not yet privy to, a promise she had not yet kept. Stopping a mere foot away from her, he stared down the barrel of her gun.

"There's always a choice Red."

"Yeah well I don't particularly like my options."

He slid closer at that; a slow drag of his feet. Another step closer, another, and yet another still. Her arm was burning, suddenly heavy and shaky as she read the dare in his eyes.

"Then do it."

She wanted to.

God how she wanted to.

_She was going to._

She just needed a moment. Needed her vision to stop blurring, her arm to stop shaking, her heart to stop hammering.

Rio to just stop moving.

He was pressed against the tip of her gun. Deliberately pushing into it, cold hard steel digging into warm muscled chest.

He was so close.

_Too close._

"Elizabeth."

No.

She shook her head, the movement frantic and near desperate.

 _No_.

She knew what he was trying to do. His penetrating gaze pinning her down as he said her name softly, almost reverently. His voice a whispered caress around the word; as if she were a cherished thing and not just some charity case gone bad.

"Please." she whispered it weakly, her tone hinting with defeat as she watched him lazily wrap his fingers around the barrel; eyes locked with hers, refusing to allow her to look away as he forced her to lower the gun slowly to the ground.

The clattering of metal against concrete thundered off the walls, the sound nearly drowned out by her own ragged and stuttered breathing.

And she was done.

Defeated.

Broken.

She could feel her carefully crafted walls begin to collapse, crumbling bit by bit, piece by piece, leaving her exposed, completely bared before him. The raw intensity of her frustrations—her anguish and confusion—hitting her hard and leaving her near breathless.

"I can't...I can't...I'm sorry...Oh God I'm so sorry."

Emotions, too many to pinpoint, too strong for her to keep up with, flooded her fast.

And she was drowning; tears spilling down her cheeks as she struggled to pull herself together.

Regret.

Shame.

Anger

Guilt.

She was absolutely wrecked.

(He had done that to her)

And she wanted to hate him, needed to hate him.

It was what any normal and sane person would feel. Hatred for the man who had led her down the murky and dark road towards a life of crime. Forcing her to question her life, her morals, herself.

She _should_ hate him.

She couldn't.

(Didn't bother to argue with the voices in her head that screamed otherwise. Demanding she pull herself together. Begging her to remember the person she once was. A doting wife, a loving mother, a kind neighbor.)

When he drew her into his arms, hold strong but not quite punishing, and whispered softly in her ear, tone firm but not quite cruel, words she could barely comprehend—her muddled mind too much of a mess for her to think clearly—finally, finally, she felt the waves of devastation begin to ebb. Exhausted and defeated she allowed herself to collapse against him, tears flowing freely and soaking into his shirt.

Just like that she was completely at his mercy.

Gladly.

_Willingly._

For some reason this man, _this criminal_ , seemed to own a piece of her.

Seemed to spark and ignite something inside of her—something that had for too long laid dormant—with his razor sharp tongue and too knowing eyes.

She should fight it, struggle and refuse his pull.

(She knew she wouldn't.)

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~__~_~_~_~_~_~_~

And it wasn't until later, much later—body hovering over hers, fingers running along her skin and setting it ablaze—when she allowed herself to look, really look, into the dark depths of his eyes and saw the turmoil of her own emotions reflected back at her, that she realized maybe, just maybe...

She might own a tiny piece of him too.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this little ficlet. Not as detailed in description as I usually like but I wrote most of this on my phone and I tend to get a little lazy when not on my computer. Anywho, I haven't written anything in like two years so when inspiration struck I figured I'd better go along with it. Maybe this little fandom will ease me back into fic writing.


End file.
